Dudley Dursley: My Adventures as a Bucket of Lard
by CelticMargarita
Summary: In the summer before his final year of school Dudley’s life is turned upside down when his home is attacked. With his father in a coma he is faced with the undeniable fact that he and his cousin may not really be as he once thought. eventually DDPP
1. Chapter 1

Emaleneangel: well I'm writing fanfiction again. I may continue Tale of a Thousand books. I may not. It all depends on whether or not my friend Serena is going to help me with it. But I hope you like this. Oh, and everything you notice is not mine. I bow to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: In the summer before his final year of school Dudley's life is turned upside down when his home is attacked by death eaters. With his father in a coma and his majority arriving he is faced with the undeniable fact that he and his cousin may not really be so different. A story about growing up, romance, adventure, family, duty, and (gasp) magic.

IMPORTANT NOTE BEFORE YOU READ THIS STORY: Although Dudley is seventeen at the beginning of this story it is narrated by him about twenty years down the road after he has matured a lot and learned words beyond two syllables (superimposed, validation, etc.)

Prologue

It was twelve days before my seventeenth birthday when I realized that imminent death really does cause one's life to flash before your eyes. When the door splintered open I saw myself running around in the bunny costume that my aunt had given me on my fifth birthday. As footsteps ascended the stairway, Ashley's green eyes fluttering as I leaned in to kiss her for the first time. My father's screams followed by Piers shrieking with laughter as I beat up some first year. Men in black robes opening the closet door superimposed with my mother peaking out of her window.

I was nine years old when I realized I was fat. Sure there had been snide remarks from people I picked on, but they were the angry words of the ignorant. If they were dumb enough to lose their lunch money than surely their opinions meant nothing. It wasn't until I decided that I was worthy of sitting with some fourth graders one day after bullying my fiftieth cache of loose change that the reality of my weight sat in. Grabbing my lunch I held my head high and proceeded to waddle over to the shiny green table and place my overloaded tray down next to a pretty blond girl. As I twisted my way onto the bench the fourth graders stopped talking. I turned and smiled at them, thinking for the first time in my life I was truly among equals. My illusions were quickly shattered when the blond girl turned to me and promptly explained that I would need to move because she was allergic to lard.

Maybe that instant could have changed me, pulled back the cloak that my parents had placed firmly around me and shown what was truly there. I did spend the day locked up in my room, Mum pacing frantically outside my door because there weren't any crashing sounds. I stood in front of my mirror for hours, looking over my rotund figure, and matted hair, convinced that as soon as I left my room it would be different.

It wasn't. However well meaning the promise I was only eight and the smiles my father gave me when I walked over someone were worth trying to forget my childhood epiphany. I continued to bully, continued to eat, continued not to give a whiff about school work and he continued to laugh encouragingly at my tales. I think that to him I was a sort of validation, since I acted like him he obviously must have been completely normal as a child. But I'm getting ahead of myself, I wouldn't become interested in psychology for at least another seven years.

Things could have changed again when I was fourteen and I met Ashley Fordhardt. She moved into the area at the beginning of fourth year, a wispy body with sandy hair and large green eyes. She read all the time, switching between stories about unicorns and the works of the Marquis de Sad, and by some miracle of fate two weeks after she had arrived when I went to ask for a cup of sugar on the request of my mother she still hadn't heard of my reputation. I stayed for an hour that night listening to her talk.

Ashley was sweet, sensitive, creative everything that would have invited the wrath of my friends if it hadn't have been for a simple fact that I was the first one of us to be regularly snogging a girl. They would make crude jokes and I wouldn't pick on people as much, scared what Ashley would say if she found out. At the time it seemed like a fair trade.

The next summer when Ashley told me she was moving, I lost it. I called her things I had only heard of in American movies. I stole her sister's bike. I almost beat up my cousin. That was also the day I went blind. Harry tried to explain it to me but I didn't care what he said. I knew it was my fault that I couldn't see. So, of course, I blamed it on him.

I thought of Ashley plenty over the next two years. Even as the robed men invaded our house she was what I thought of more than anyone else. As horrible as the screams were it was even worse to know that she would hate me now. I hated myself.

Chapter One: The Beginning

The great thing about selective memory is that one can just as easily block out good things as bad. You know that epiphany of being an unhappy beast that I mentioned a few sentences ago. Completely and utterly forgotten by the time I woke up. I was alive and obviously I was wrong, so where was the television?

Except for when I woke up I wasn't at home. I wasn't even in a hospital. I was in a dark room with gray paneling and furniture. Dust had crept up on some of the edges and a trickle of sunlight filtered in through a grimy window. I was so distracted by the new surroundings that I didn't even notice a woman lurking in the shadows until she stepped forward.

She must have been somewhere in her forties, short, with fading brown hair, and a lined face. At any other time I just would have ignored her or maybe laughed at her for good measure except for the fact that her long flowing clothes were similar to those of the people who had attacked our house. I screamed.

Now at that time in my life people who were not blinded by their love of me would have told you that I had very few talents. Screaming was one of them. On several occasions in the middle of a tantrum the police had come to our house in order to make sure no one was being tortured. In those instances I always got what I wanted simply because my parents didn't want the neighbors worrying.

I don't know how long my scream lasted but it was long enough for five people to come rushing up three flights of stairs. The woman in the robes was trying to get me to calm down but I couldn't hear her over my own voice.

"What is going on in here!" shouted a woman as the door banged open. I took a breath and continued, but turned my head so I could look at her. Short and plump with curly red hair.

"The boy—."

"What!"

"I said the boy seems to be in some state of shock!" By then three more people were standing in the doorway. A woman with purple hair, a girl with frizzy brown hair, and another girl with long flowing red hair.

"Oh, will please shut-up," said a familiar voice from the doorway. I turned to find my cousin pointing his twig at me before muttering some gibberish. Only it mustn't have exactly been gibberish because the next moment I found my screaming had stopped. I opened my mouth to yell at him but no sound came out.

"Harry," gasped the brown-haired girl. The other two were smirking. "You're only sixteen."

"But I'm the Boy-Who-Lived and only a fortnight away from my birthday so I doubt that anyone at the Ministry gives a shit."

I was beginning to panic when the red headed woman turned to my cousin.

"Now Harry, was that really necessary?"

He simply rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't have shut-up otherwise." His next words were directed at me. "Some of us were trying not to have an ear-splitting head-ache."

"Well, he's quiet now so you can remove it." At her words Harry waved his stick. In those few moments of readily interrupted conversation I could tell that something about my cousin had changed. Of course me being the person that I was I went ahead with my standard comment.

"Fuck you."

"Now we do not allow that kind of language in this house," said the red haired woman sternly, but her eyes quickly softened. "And Harry I don't think you're helping the situation so why don't the four of you go downstairs."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

"And eat something, you're too skinny." When the door closed behind the group the woman I presumed to be Mrs. Weasley turned back to me, clapping her hands on her knees as she sat down. She wasn't necessarily frowning but she definitely wasn't smiling.

"So you must be Dudley."

I nodded.

"You're Harry's cousin?"

I nodded again.

"Do you mind telling me why you screamed?" She was acting like I was a three year old but at the moment I didn't care.

"Her clothes," I pointed to the stately woman. "They're like the ones the people were wearing."

"Oh. That's a coincidence. She has nothing to do with them. This is Madam Pomfrey. She is a healer."

I looked back up at her as I lowered my arm. Somewhere during her introduction pity had entered her eyes, immediately returning me back to myself.

"I want to go home, away from you freaks. Where's my father?" But my words didn't have the desired affect. Instead of making her angry she simply looked over at the healer with a sympathetic expression.

"Now Dudley," she began. "When the Death Eaters—?"

"—Death Eaters?"

"Men in weird clothes," she continued, "entered your house." The door opened again before she could finish. A statuesque woman entered. She had silver hair, a pointy black hat, and carried herself rigidly. Now, that was what I'd call a witch.

"I heard a commotion, Molly. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Minerva. I was just explaining to the child what happened."

Finally the tall woman seemed to notice I was in the room. "You must be Dudley. I am Minerva McGonagall." If Mrs. Weasley hadn't seemed too keen on me this Minerva lady seemed to outright dislike me.

"Now what exactly do you remember about the attack." Images flashed through my head and I found myself unable to speak. She seemed to understand what was happening and continued without waiting for me to answer. "I regret to inform you that, while no one was killed last night, both of your parents sustained grievous injuries. Both of them are residing in St. Mungo's, that's one of our hospitals, at the moment. Your mother looks like she will be fine with the exception of a limp in a couple of days but I regret to inform you that your father has yet to awaken." She quickly turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Well, if that's all, I shall return to my duties." And with those words she exited, leaving Mrs. Weasley completely and utterly perplexed.

I, of course, started screaming again as soon as the door slammed shut, and didn't stop until Harry came up and cast another spell on me.

Several hours later and three cups of partially finished chocolate they had managed to calm me down enough for Mrs. Weasley to explain what had happened. Our house had been invaded by four unknown Death Eaters. They had teleported into a gas station at the end of the block before disguising themselves as a salesman, his hat, his briefcase, and his jacket. Once on our front porch they had transformed again and knocked down the front door.

My father was in the kitchen when it happened. He had managed to make it five feet into the dining room before the first spell caught him. They had hit him several more times with things I didn't understand before leaving him on the floor, not dead, but with an injured spinal cord, burnt face, and severed foot. My mother had already feinted in the bathroom by the time they had reached her so they didn't waste too much time there. A fractured leg and they headed on to where I was hiding in the closet.

That's when the so called good guys had arrived. Apparently in the skirmish that ensued I had been knocked unconscious by a stray curse. It had taken little under a quarter of an hour for our house to be cleared and a little over a half an hour for them to vacate it.

Throughout the explanation Mrs. Weasley did manage to skirt around one issue. She never once mentioned why, after all this time, something so horrible had happened. But even without her saying it I knew the answer. It was all Harry's fault.

I awoke to a clock striking midnight. If I thought it had been dark in the room earlier it was nothing compared to how it looked in the middle of the night. Shadows piled on more shadows with little edges of gleaming wood and metal. I shivered as I wrapped the antique blanket further around me. A breeze whispered, a step creaked, a dog howled. Pulling my legs out of their comfortable confines I slipped out of bed.

Normally I would never have wondered around a magical infested house but everything seemed so surreal at the moment. I don't remember much about my trip down to the kitchen, which I found out of sheer luck, just trying not to make much noise. Why I cared about waking people I didn't know.

I faced another problem once I made it to the kitchen. I had no clue where anything was and as I quickly learned not every cabinet even contained food. The first one I opened, located approximately in the same spot where Mum keeps the jam, was full of paper clippings, some of which, to my horror, moved. The second one contained an assortment of wool. The third one had oven mitts.

"Try the third shelf from the upper right corner," said a voice, interrupting me from my search. I whirled around to find the brown haired girl standing behind me. Although, truth be told, girl wasn't the most accurate word. She was at that in-between stage, little glimmers of the woman that she would soon become peaking through her childhood face. "That's where they keep the tea. You were looking for tea, right?" she continued.

Actually, I had no idea what I had been looking for but I nodded anyways.

"Here, I'll get it. Tea is a good thing to have at night. Mrs. Weasley has this great lavender blend that helps with insomnia." She had already taken the crate down and started the water by the time she finished speaking. After a moment of silence she turned around to look at me. "I'm Hermione, by the way." She wasn't smiling like most people did when they introduced themselves.

"I'm Dudley." She nodded at my response, as if to say she already knew, before once again focusing on the tea. It was completely silent as she walked from counter to stove but she moved as if something rhythmic was running its way through her head. "I could just heat this up the regular way, I suppose, but it normally doesn't taste as good." I nodded, having no idea what she was talking about. I looked down at the table in front of me and began to pick at a chipped corner.

The next thing I knew the pot was whistling and the dent in the table had expanded by several centimeters. "Sugar? Milk?" she asked, pushing a drawer closed with her hip as she placed a canister on the counter.

"Both."

I heard the clinking of sugar cubes against porcelain, then the swishing of feet as she made her way to the table. I looked up at her as she placed the cup in front of me.

"I'm sorry about your parents," she said, except there was something contradictory in her face as she spoke. It wasn't that she wasn't sincere. It was more that she was conflicted about expressing her sympathy. When I didn't speak she continued. "I'm always scared that something like that will happen to my parents."

"Like those black robes would go after your family. Your—."

"—Muggle-born," she finished to my confusion. "That means my parents aren't magical, just like yours. The Death Eaters target people like me. And I guess it probably doesn't help my popularity that Harry and I are so close."

At that I snorted, crossed my arms, and looked back down. "Yeah, it's all that little freak's fault." I might have continued ranting except for at that moment the witch sprang out of her seat, shoving the table against me. She quickly leaned down and looked me in the eyes.

"Now look here, you little runt. After all of the," she paused for a moment, "the shit you put Harry through your lucky I didn't hex you the moment I laid eyes on you. I'm sorry about what happened to you and your family but if I hear you so much as hint that this is Harry's fault I will emasculate you—"

"—Emasculate?"

She rolled her eyes. "Cut off your penis, really it is so hard to threaten people with infinitesimal vocabularies. He has enough shit to deal with right now without you adding needless guilt to it."

"You can't use magic." Even as I said it I gulped. "You said so earlier."

"While Harry may still be a few weeks off from his birthday I am a fully qualified witch. Plus, as I said, I'm muggle-born. If I wanted to emasculate you I wouldn't do it with my wand." She then leaned even closer, a sadistic gleam lighting her face. "I'd use a rusty spoon."

I felt my eyes widen but she simply pushed herself away from the table and yawned. "Well I had better be going to bed if I want to be any help with chores tomorrow."

She was halfway up the stairs when she called back to me. "Dursley."

I turned around to face her, too afraid not to.

"I really am sorry about your parents." With that she sighed and bounded up the stairs, entering the first room on the left.

I watched my tea for a moment, the amber liquid lapping against the pearly sides, before pushing it away. I didn't think even the best cup of tea in the world would stop the bile from teasing my throat.

Emaleneangel: Well, that's it. Please review. And since I know someone is going to comment on this, yes I know it's not called teleporting but that's what he would have called it.


	2. Chapter 2

Emaleneangel: How many months has it been? Seven? Eight? Oh well. Here's the second chapter. I hope you like it and please review. Oh, and I don't own anything.

I spent the morning after my arrival at No. 5 (of course I didn't call it that then, it was just the Dusty Hell Hole) watching people out of the corner of my eye. Harry and his red headed friend, Ron, played a game of chess. The first time a knight smashed one of the pawns I almost jumped from my seat and ran over there, but managed to remember myself in time to maintain my façade of irate boredom. The red-headed girl sat of to side watching them, or more accurately, watching my cousin's hands as they absently caressed the chess pieces. And Hermione, the girl who several hours prior had threatened to castrate me, was reclined on a sette, diligently reading through one of the biggest books I had ever seen.

The next time there was a crash from the chess board I couldn't help but look up. Tiny pieces of black marble fell to the floor, crashing loudly on the wooden surface.

"Don't worry Dudders. They won't hurt you," remarked Harry. The way his lip upturned would almost have been comical on his young face if there wasn't so much fervor behind his eyes. His friend was also glaring daggers at me. Hermione cautiously watched the scene unfold from the side, trying to determine if she should intervene.

"Well you could try to quiet it down. The stupid game is bloody loud." Harry's eyes squinted as he tried to think up a retort but his friend beat him to it.

"It's your move mate. I think your queen's getting a bit restless." But just as he had turned around to ponder which piece he wanted to get smashed next Mrs. Weasley walked into the room. Even in the dimly lit confines of the study her hair shined brightly.

"Come on kids. Up and at 'em. Those closets aren't going to clean themselves."

"Aw, Mom," whined the girl.

"Now Hermione, Ginny, you two take the third floor. Harry and Ron, you go after the basement."

"And what about him?" asked Ron. If I had thought his look before was unfriendly this was venomous.

"Now Ronald, the poor boy has enough to deal with." For a moment she stopped and looked at me, pity simply oozing forth in her demeanor, before she returned to normal. "Come on. We haven't got all day." There were a few more pointed groans before they exited and I was left alone.

The wonders of the decrepit study could only amaze me for so long. The first ten minutes I spent counting the waves of color in the coffee table. Then I tried to convince the white king that his queen was having an affair with the black knight (they of course didn't respond). I even attempted to read through one of the books (a dusty tome entitled: Autun Abeer's Guide to Wandless Torture) but gave up on that fairly quickly as well. Finally I set off in order to find something interesting to do.

The first two rooms I entered were completely unremarkable apart from the moving portraits that lined the walls. For a moment I thought about going down to the kitchen but, with the previous night's meeting still at the top of my memory, I decided it would be best to avoid another run in. Just when I was about to go back into the study and break something, I heard hushed voices coming from a room at the hall. Creeping so as to not reveal my presence (which, considering the age of the floorboards and my weight at the time, was quite a feat) I carefully made my way to the cracked door.

"…I've told you Molly. It's just not possible. If he goes anywhere without a strong magical presence, they'll be able to track him. And if she comes here, she'll be placed needlessly in harm's way. Somewhere we've all been since Albus…" the Scottish woman trailed off, and I thought I heard a sniffle.

"I know, I know Minerva. It's just my maternal instincts." Confident that they had not yet noticed my presence, I started to lean forward a bit to peep through the cracked doorway when something hit the back of my head. I resisted the urge to yelp and turned around.

The girl who had been watching my cousin earlier that day was standing behind me with her hands on her hips. I couldn't help but gulp as she strutted forward.

"You know," she started, leaning in so that the women wouldn't hear us. "It's not polite to eavesdrop." She paused for a second and moved in even closer. "And if you really wanted to there are far more effective ways." I couldn't help it, when I felt her breath brush against my ear, I bolted.

At that time I could have said a lot of nasty things about Mrs. Weasley, but that she was a bad cook wasn't one of them (of course it never crossed my mind to compliment her either). Everything she made, from the eggs she had whipped up for breakfast to the fish she fried for dinner, tingled the taste buds in the best possible way. Piling generous helpings on my plate I proceeded to shovel as much food into my mouth as humanly possible.

"Uggh," said my cousin. I looked up to find that everyone was staring at me, except for Hermione, who was looking purposefully away. Harry's face was scrunched up. The red-headed girl's eyes were wide in horror, and her brother was trying to look appalled, but a bit of admiration crept through his cold demeanor. I made sure to smack my next bite of potatoes as loudly as possible. Suddenly the fire roared to life behind me. I jumped so hard that I fell out of my chair. I continued to scoot away after my initial shock, not because I didn't have a clue as to what was going on, but because the last time I had seen a fire place act like that my tongue grew a good three feet. Luckily everyone else was distracted enough that they didn't bother to tease me. With a final burst of flames the Witch Lady emerged, followed closely by my mother.

"Dudley," she cried, rushing forward. "Oh my Lord, you're alright. My baby's all right." Her bones stabbed as she hugged me, and I could tell that the foursome was smirking off to my side, but, for once, I didn't give a shit.

The Witch Lady cleared her throat behind us. "Perhaps you two wish to remove yourselves to the foyer? I am sure you have much to discuss." My mother nodded mutely and followed me out the door.

The foyer was different from the rest of the house only in size. It was still dark and gloomy but the haunting furniture that lined the walls of the various bedrooms and studies was about three times as large. Not the best place to start a conversation that was bound to be awkward, which is probably the reason we just sat there, saying nothing.

The silence did however give me a chance to survey the changes in my mother over the past few days. Her eyes were bloodshot and sunken back into hollow cavities. Her nose was red, and her blond hair was oily and waved in various directions. After seventeen years of die-hard perfection, it was her appearance that made the happenings of the previous few days really hit home.

My mother almost looked relieved when McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later and delivered us from the stagnant silence.

"Now, we all need to sit down and sort this fiasco out," she said, clapping her hands as she entered.

"Minerva, are you sure that it is a good idea to let the children listen?" asked Mrs. Weasley, following directly behind her. The Witch Lady turned her imposing figure to the smaller woman.

"I understand your concerns Molly, but it was Dumbledore's wish that they should be included. And I think it will do them good to understand what is really going on."

Mrs. Weasley held up her hands in defeat and moved aside to let 'the children' by. It was only when the red-headed girl entered that she started up again.

"Oh no you don't Ginny. You march yourself right back into the kitchen."

"But, mom—"

"Do not try my patience Ginevra Weasley."

The girl huffed and exited. I was surprised that the door didn't break when she slammed it.

"Now," started McGonagall, as if nothing has happened. "Petunia, we have found a household that will hide you on the continent. Since your husband has not yet regained consciousness, he is safest where he is at St. Mungo's."

"What about Dudley?"

"I'm afraid that because of his situation it would be impossible for him to go with you." I felt my insides clench at the way she elongated 'situation.' "I think it's time you told him, Petunia." My mother said nothing however, only slouched farther into the chair.

"Very well," started McGonagall, turning back to me. "Dudley, you are a wizard." The room seemed to shrink to her lips as she spoke. But the words were so insane, so preposterous that I couldn't process them. Instead I fought the urge to laugh as my cousin choked in the background. "Do you understand me Dudley?"

"You're lying," were the only words I could manage to form.

"I assure you that I am not." But I didn't believe her and turned immediately to my mother. She was massaging her temples and refused to look at my questing eyes.

"She's telling the truth." For three whole seconds the room was deathly silent.

"What! You've all gone blood bonkers. I'm not one of those freaks."

"Mr. Dursley, if you will quiet down?" commanded the Witch Lady. I did, but only because I was pretty sure she would force me if I didn't. "As I was saying—" But my cousin interrupted.

"That makes no sense. If he were a wizard he would have received a Hogwarts letter like I did."

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that he was sent one. I wrote it myself. His parents, however, replied that they had no interest in introducing Dudley to our world, and I am politely paraphrasing what they wrote."

"And why would we?" laughed my mother. But it was a sick sort of laugh, filled with saline, and it made the hairs on my neck stand up. "All this place is is death."

For the first time I saw McGongagall's eyes soften. "I assure you it is not. But I can understand why you feel that way."

"Wait, then how come Uncle Vernon couldn't prevent me from getting my letter?"

"Because, although he was your legal guardian, he was not your parent. Lily and James had made it clear that they wanted you to attend Hogwarts. Now, if I may." When no one objected she continued. "As I was saying, it wouldn't be safe for Dudley to go with his mother because You-Know-Who would then be able to trace them."

"And why would You-Know-Who," I gestured wildly at the words, "care about me?"

"Because you have Harry's blood in you. Harry and You-Know-Who share the same blood and thus he would be able to trace you."

"I should have known it was your fault, you little—" I lunged forward

"Now, now. I have been interrupted quite enough. There will be no name calling or attempted murder." I grunted and fell back into my chair.

"But my mom's related to Harry as well."

"Yes, but your mother posses no magical power, so he would not be able to trace her. You see, each witch and wizard emits a magical aura, something that is unique to them alone. Although it is possible for their aura to change over time pieces of it, revealing their pedigree and various other innate aspects, will always remain the same."

"Is this how they found us?" McGonagall shook her head, sadly.

"No. I fear that would be the product of one of our members defecting. Your house was most strictly warded because of your unique circumstance."

"Bloody bastard," Harry muttered behind her, and for once no one corrected his language. In fact, I even thought I saw McGonagall's head incline slightly in agreement.

"So is that why he doesn't attack Harry. Because he's guarded?"

"That, and because Harry is well trained. His magic is focused from his years at Hogwarts, no longer shooting all over the place. Your magic, however, is much more ambient." She paused for a moment and looked at me as if considering something. "Well I think that settles everything."

"No," started my mother. Her voice was choked and raspy. When she removed her had from her face to look at McGonagall I realized that she was crying. Her voice rose a bit with her next words. "You are insane if you think that I am going to let Dudley out of my sight for another twenty years after what's happened."

"Petunia, I assure you it's for the best—"

"That's what you lot told me last time isn't it!" And with that chaos ensued. Mum was yelling at McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley. Harry was trying to taunt me from the corner without letting any of the adults know. Hermione and the read-headed boy were whispering, but their words soon turned into screams.

"Wait," I yelled. "Wait," I repeated, and to my surprise everyone quieted down and looked at me. "I'll stay." Out of all of the outcomes people had expected, I could tell immediately that this wasn't one of them. Eyes widened, heads bobbed forward, and I shifted under the unwanted attention.

"Dudley. Don't be silly. You're coming with me."

"No, Mum," I shook my head as I walked over to her. "I'm staying." Placing a hand behind her neck, I leaned down kissed her forehead. I could feel her sobs vibrating against my lips.

Barb 1: I hope I didn't disappoint. I want to finish tale, because I really like the plot, but it's so off now that HBP is published that I'm having problems with it.

Hyper Pearl Girl: Do you mind if I ask why?

Grizzabella: Honestly, your review was what started me writing again. I know my thanks is extremely belated but I hope you accept it anyways.


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